Look for Me (35 page)

“How did you know what you looked like?”

“I saw my reflection in the cutlery.”

“Why did you tell them you didn’t want to see anyone?”

“I didn’t.”

“You didn’t tell the nurses you didn’t want visitors?”

“No.”

“How could the nurses lie to me?”

“They probably assumed you’d freak out.”

“That’s ridiculous. Maybe you said it while you were half-drugged.”

“Maybe.”

“You hurt me.”

“I know you see it that way.”

“What other way is there?”

“Life hurt you. Bad luck hurt you. Not me.”

“I’m staying the night.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to sleep in your bed.”

“There’s only one bed.”

“Don’t force me to stay here forever. I don’t even speak the language. And it’s not like I can just come visit you three times a week. I’m lucky I made it in this once.”

“You are lucky. I was very worried.”

“Once I got past the checkpoints, I felt safe.”

“This isn’t a safe place for anyone. There’s constant shooting, people are getting killed all the time. It never stops.”

“I saved up money so we could go on a vacation, just the two of us. You once said you wanted to see Ireland. We’ll stay at the best hotels, we’ll go sailing …”

“You saved money? How?”

“I write romance novels in English. It pays very well.”

“Romance novels …I didn’t know.”

“I don’t tell most people.”

“That’s really amazing, that you can do that.”

“My hidden talent. Not that it takes much talent!”

“It takes a lot of talent. You have to know what other people’s fantasies are. That takes a special kind of genius.”

“Yes, that’s me. A genius. A genius at surviving.”

“I felt bad not leaving you any money, but I figured your father would help you out.”

“He offered, of course. As it turned out, I didn’t need him. I’ve put away half of what I made for our trip.”

“I don’t want to travel, Dana. I don’t like people staring at me.”

“Who cares? Who cares? So you look a little weird, so what? Haven’t you noticed that everyone is a misfit? We’re all weird! You never cared before what anyone thought, why would you care now?”

“I liked who I was.”

“No one gives a damn. People aren’t interested in anything but their own little lives.”

“That hasn’t been my experience, generally speaking. If people weren’t interested in anything but their own little lives we wouldn’t have missiles dropping from the sky every second Tuesday.”

“Have you lost any students?”

“Yes. One died, and four are so disabled they can’t really function anymore. One girl, the one who was killed, she was incredibly brilliant. She was a math whiz, I couldn’t teach her anything. I put her in touch with a mathematician at the university—he was teaching her by email. She would have been a scientist, or a physicist, she could have done anything with her life. But she was shot down at a checkpoint, on the way to visit her brother. They shot at the car she was in—the whole family was killed. Everyone who knew her was devastated, including me. She was something special, not only brilliant but also wise and sweet. But it’s always devastating.”

“I brought you a photograph.” I reached for my bag and took out the photo of the excited religious men and the birds in the sky.

Daniel looked at it for a long time. “Was this a funeral?” he asked.

“It was a memorial. For those thirteen Arabs the police killed. It seemed so shocking at the time, killing our own citizens. Now nothing seems shocking. We’ve lost the ability to be shocked.”

“This is wonderful. They’re getting excited about the birds.”

“Yes. Do you think they thought the birds were the souls of the boys?”

“I don’t know. But it’s a great photograph, Dana. Thank you for bringing it. I’d like to see all your photos. You know, I probably wouldn’t have ended up here if not for you. I mean in Palestine. You see how effective your lectures were …”

“I didn’t mean for you to go this far …” I said, and we both laughed.

“Has anything changed in the flat? How are the plants doing?”

“They’re thriving. You can’t see the wall anymore. I’m thinking of trimming them a bit, what do you think?”

“Sure, sounds like a good idea …”

“Kitty died last year. She just went very limp suddenly, and I held her on my lap for a few hours, and she died, I guess of old age. Daniel, I’ve really missed you. It’s been incredibly lonely.”

“Yes.”

“What a waste. What a waste of suffering. For nothing, for absolutely nothing.”

“Most suffering is for nothing.”

“It’s true. This fighting …this fighting is for nothing,” I said. “We’re all dying for nothing. Come with me to bed.”

“All right. But don’t expect anything.”

“Okay.”

Daniel turned off the lights and undressed. He lay down beside me but he didn’t touch me.

“Remember all the things we used to do?” I said.

“Yes. It’s amazing how your body hasn’t changed at all. Your face is older, but not your body.”

“It’s yours, my body.”

“You were always a generous person, Dana.”

“I’ve been loyal to you. I slept with a kid a year after you vanished, a one-night stand. I didn’t enjoy it, it was really sad. I had no idea he was so young. Poor guy, I really hurt him. And I’ve slept with Beatrice. She’s attracted to women, but she isn’t in love with me, it was always very casual, and it’s over now that we’re back together.”

“You don’t have to tell me, Dana. I never expected or wanted you to be alone. I was hoping you’d find someone. I slept with someone while we were married, you know.”

“What?”

“Remember at that first place I worked? The other woman who quit when I quit—I had sex with her a few times in the office, after hours, and also once at our place, when she did the wall painting in the kitchen.”

I heard the words, they were very bumpy, like a bumpy wagon ride, but I was having trouble understanding them.

“I didn’t do it to hurt you. It was the first year of our marriage, and I wasn’t used to monogamy. She came on to me, and I gave in. And then I decided it wasn’t worth the guilt and also it wasn’t worth how you’d feel if you found out.”

“How long did it go on for?”

“Just two or three weeks, I don’t remember exactly. I didn’t have any feelings toward her—maybe I just wanted to feel like a macho stud. Maybe I was flattered by her desire. Maybe I was afraid of how much I loved you and I wanted to cheat on you before you cheated on me. Maybe I was just a jerk.”

“Does that time with the feet have anything to do with that?”

“Feet?”

“I once kissed your feet, and you got very upset and left the house.”

“Oh yes …I’d forgotten all about that. Yes. I suddenly had an attack of unbearable guilt.”

“That was the only time?”

“Yes.”

“How did it end?”

“We both left the firm, and she got a job in another part of the country. But I wouldn’t have continued with her anyhow.”

“She was in love with you. She put your initials all over the painting.”

“When did you notice that?”

“Only recently—someone came to visit, another activist, and he pointed it out.”

“I was very angry with her for doing that. She ruined that room for me.”

“Is that why we never ate in the kitchen?”

“Yes.”

“That hurts me. Even after all this time, it hurts. Was she very beautiful?”

“No, she was very, very ugly. She had a mustache and hair on her back and warts on her chin, and she smelled of old cheese.”

“Tell me.”

“We’re just human, Dana. That means we’re fucked up and we mess up. It means we do stupid and insane things. I don’t think anyone studying the human species would believe the things we do. Maybe you expect too much of people, and also of yourself.”

“I don’t think I expect too much. If you knew what the characters in my novels expect, that would give you perspective.”

“I had to leave because I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

“But what did you think when you saw all those ads I put in the newspaper?”

“I told you, I thought you felt sorry for me and that you felt a sense of duty. You always had a sense of duty.”

“A sense of duty! Yes, toward my country, toward my country’s victims. But do you think I’d make personal decisions based on a sense of duty? How could you have so little trust in me?”

“You know trust was never my strong point.”

“We’re such opposites in some ways. I believed you loved me right from the word go, even though you never said it. I just felt it from the way you looked at me and ran your fingers through my hair, and made jokes about me. And you—you didn’t believe it even though I let you know every way I could.”

“Yes, it’s true. You let me know.”

“I was very loved as a child. I guess it wasn’t hard for me to believe that you adored me, too. Your parents were a lot tougher with you. They’re tough people, like everyone in this country. My parents were imports, they never fit in.”

“I don’t know what to feel.”

“You made a mistake, Daniel. A very sad mistake, one which caused everyone a lot of pain. Touch me.”

“Your skin was always as smooth as silk.”

“Like that song.”

“Yes, like the song.”

“I think it’s still smooth, you’ll have to see for yourself.” He placed his hand on my belly. “What does my hand feel like?”

“Like it used to, only better. Remember how you always came up to me when I was washing dishes, and put your arms around my waist?”

“At first it hurt me to touch people, after the fire. It felt like physical pain, but I think it was psychological. Anyhow, it passed. I don’t mind now. I look up porn on the computer sometimes, but it’s so unaesthetic, it gets in the way.”

“Unaesthetic! You’re so funny. Even porn has to be beautiful.”

“Well, why shouldn’t it be?”

“Glory be to God for dappled things,”
I quoted.

“What?”

“That’s from a poem I like. Though the guy who wrote it didn’t have porn in mind, to say the least.”

“I’ve kept a diary, not that detailed, just basic things.”

“I took photographs.”

“If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

“Okay.”

“I’m starting to feel more relaxed.”

“Me too.”

“I’m starting to get excited.”

“Good. I’m ready for some action.”

B
EFORE, MY LIFE WAS ORDERLY
. I had my job, my friends, the sea. I took photographs, I wrote junk novels, I waited for my husband.

Now everything has changed. I live near the sea and I speak to Daniel on the phone every day and look for ways to see him. Maybe one day he’ll move back here. Maybe one day the roads between us will be open and I’ll be free to see him whenever I want.

Beatrice, Benny, and Vronsky have disappeared from my life. I told Beatrice I couldn’t sleep with her anymore, and in honor of our new status as ordinary friends she invited me to her place for dinner. It was a strange, hectic evening. Dudu, who to his own amazement had made a fortune in real estate, was mildly stoned. With his hippie beard and a scrawny joint held precariously between his artistic fingers, he looked lost and dazed, as if he were still trying to understand how he’d landed on this planet, in this particular house and family. Beatrice was on the phone half the time, and the children bobbed incessantly through the evening with tenacious requests. When Beatrice and I said good-bye at the door, we both knew I would not be back.

Benny met a student, Rina, who hailed him in the middle of the night after walking out on her boyfriend, and the two of them connected immediately. Rina is skinny, high-strung, and chronically petulant, but Benny loves her, and he’s happy. He moved in with her almost immediately, and I hear the two of them are now engaged. I smile in his direction when I pass him on the beach with his children and young fiancée, but we don’t speak. He’s still a little angry with me, or maybe just embarrassed.

Vronsky and I have lost touch.

Volvo is still here, and Jacky, and Tanya. Volvo has an American boyfriend, Tom, and he now wears long denim shorts and sleeveless tops. He and Tom fight regularly, and sometimes everyone in the building witnesses their stormy dramas, which they both appear to enjoy. Tanya’s going out with the locksmith, and they seem to be getting along. Sometimes I hear the locksmith whistling in the hallway as he descends the stairs and heads out to work. Tanya says it won’t last. “Still … live for the moment,” she adds.

I talk to Rafi on the phone, but he no longer visits; I need to be loyal to Daniel. Only once, when we were helping Palestinians pick olives and two insane settlers began shooting at us, and we all lay down on the ground, terrified, Rafi crawled over to where I was and we held one another. We curled up against the wide, gnarled trunk of the tree and he placed his arm around my waist. If we were going to die, we would at least not die alone. It took the army a very long time to come—nearly an hour. A few feet away from us, Odelia was trying to help a woman from London, who had been hit in the leg.

The army arrived, finally, but they let the settlers go free, and they refused to stay with us, so we had to abandon the trees. Rafi and I drove away from the olive grove in separate cars.

I am also expecting; I’m in my eighth month. Is it Rafi’s baby, or my husband’s? It doesn’t matter. I love them both, I can have neither.

Still, I am lucky. I am surrounded by love. Even if I can’t touch it or see it, I know it is there, waiting for me.